


think it over

by hotmess_ex_press



Category: BLACKPINK (Band), Momoland (Band)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Friends to Lovers, ish, no au, other members mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 04:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17738717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotmess_ex_press/pseuds/hotmess_ex_press
Summary: Slowly, and in not nearly so many big words, Yeonwoo falls in love. Jisoo makes it all the easier.





	think it over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starry___Mothpool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starry___Mothpool/gifts).



> i'm so sorry because this is late and way less fluffy than either of us expected it to be but HERE IT IS!

Yeonwoo could, and _would_ , in any other situation, admit that she has a hard time drawing the line between the sensations of _I want to be you_ and _I want to kiss you_. If she does manage, the difference is barely traced in powdery chalk, pale and crumbly enough to blow away in whatever winds a glowing smile can stir up.

When she sees Jisoo at the convention, she is pulled back to stolen kisses with her feet slipping neatly beneath almost-blue waves, tugging at the hair and scratching at the skin she had wanted all along. Call her selfish _(do)_ , but Yeonwoo wants closer, she wants _in_.

 _Overtrained_ , some whisper, but Jisoo is, perhaps, the opposite. She is simply too bold and too bright to be _allowed_ , Yeonwoo figures, touch of envy if the green goes with her hair, as Jisoo stomps and jumps and _forces_ her way through the waves of mundanity. Crashing headlong through wall after wall of _do_ s and _don't_ s, struggling along like the rest of them only to emerge more vibrant and yet more _real_ than anyone else, anyone in this whole soft perfume-clouded, giggle-filled room.

Yeonwoo imagines a storm of pure _color_ , staining an otherwise perfect, watered-down crowd of near-humans, and _wants_.

Near-humans being, in one way or another, a bit too near godlike and a bit too far away from solid; over- and underachieving simultaneously. Yeonwoo's fingers twitch.

She can only do what she does best; slip into the role this unforgiving world has thrust around her neck and _smile_ , wonder if Jisoo touches everyone's elbow like that, gazes at everyone with that intrigue, always speaks with something too close to lust in that lotus-blossom voice. Wonder if Jisoo already _knows_ , can smell that greed off of her like the bitter ache of alcohol sweat. Eventually let all that go and just accept the fact that Jisoo is consistently, terrifyingly _honest_.

Yeonwoo touches her back and dares to get too close before her members or her manager comes to drag her away. "You're gorgeous," is the context in which Yeonwoo asks for her number, although, really, it may be more like _give_.

 _Give_ , in the face of _teach me how to laugh like that_. Open. Loud. Without covering her mouth with a dainty hand, without letting her hair demurely swish to curtain her face, without any of the spoon-fed lies that visuals like them, idols like them, _women_ like them are told will make them, if not _enough_ , then at least _desirable_.

Jisoo laughs in the way-deep of her throat, and Yeonwoo leans forward, feeling fluttery blue chalk rise up to swallow her heart.

("Of course I know you," Jisoo had playfully nudged Yeonwoo, too comfortable already. "I'd have to be living in the gutters not to! _Rendezvous_ , no?"

She slipped in a little dance move there, one that could have been sexy if she had tried a little harder. Yeonwoo allowed a grin, let her gaze linger unsteadily on some shifting point in between the hollows of Jisoo's hips. Just to make sure Jisoo could read the flourishes of her fading smile.

"Rendezvous," Yeonwoo confirmed, drowning her eyes in that familiar warmth, caught between innocence and desire, the _look_ she had never directed to anyone other than the cameras and the girl in the mirror.

 _You are theirs_ , she has been taught above anything else, but her heart is in her hands, a moment away from Jisoo's teeth.)

 

 

 

"Maybe you should come over," Jisoo says. Her voice reaches Yeonwoo stretched and re-shrunk through the phone, but those wisps of laughter remain. Perhaps they are elusive in the way that refuses to be captured by anything but the soul. Fine mist, catching the light and upturning rainbows, all the while running circles around the deceptive crisscrosses of your butterfly net.

Yeonwoo pauses, pretends to consider. "What kind of _come over_?" she asks, to draw out the time. Jisoo breaths on the other side of the line, _truly_ thinking, perhaps.

This is different, electric. A fizzling silence, brimming over with the unspoken. Yeonwoo's toes flex, and she leans over to blow on the slowly drying blue polish. She had read somewhere that the extra air does nothing, but it still _feels_ like something. Is that not what matters? _Pink or red for your fingernails, sheer nude for your toenails_ , her mother always told her, more bullshit about what's _proper_ , and the cerulean feels like rebellion.

"I'll order chicken," Jisoo finally settles on, and Yeonwoo might be able to untangle the mess of subtleties her voice drips with, if it weren't for the sticky reluctance of distance and phone speakers. She isn't disappointed, she tells herself. "I hear you're a fan."

Yeonwoo hangs up, two years of respect she should be considering be damned, and trusts that Jisoo will know to expect her.

Jisoo's eyes crinkle up when she opens the door to the younger. Yeonwoo peers around her and sees a bedroom door slamming shut. She brought soju; she has the right to be nosy. Jisoo doesn't try to stop her, anyway.

"Unnie," she tries out a bit later, not missing the way they both flinch. Yeonwoo doesn't open her mouth to the honorific again.

Today is a day for being curious. She forces Jisoo to let her try on her slippers, to see if Jisoo's toenails are painted. They're bright orange.

 

 

 

"You're too real," Yeonwoo admits over bitter green smoothies. Momoland is coming back soon enough; it's all she'll eat right now. Jisoo is just too nice to order something else, even as Yeonwoo catches her eyeing the platters of pastries and sandwiches. Her lips wrap so seductively around the bright pink straw.

"Does that scare you?" Jisoo glances up, head angled down as if she's practiced but Yeonwoo _knows_ (hopes) that's not true.

Yeonwoo stirs her drink and runs her tongue over her teeth to check for green flecks before she smiles. Her Idol-smile, the one she knows Jisoo hates because she _sees right through it_. "It terrifies me."

 

 

 

Yeonwoo picks at the hem of her cutoffs. They're too short, too tight, digging into a place too high up her torso to be comfortable. Even the vitamins she had taken this morning glom into a heavy knot in the bottom of her stomach. Hyebin stands in front of a mirror, breathing and smiling at nothing; _twenty-two inch waist_ , all the profiles state with pride. Yeonwoo remembers what she first thought, meeting Hyebin. _The leader shouldn't be the thinnest, shouldn't have the sexiest body. It just isn't right_. She had gripped too hard when they shook hands.

She'll admit her jealousy. She had wanted it to be _her_ , even as she realized how perverse it was to link _thin_ with _sexy_ , and dissociate _sexy_ with _caring_. No way to take it all back, anyway. Hyebin is a good leader. Yeonwoo tidies up, stuffs all her feelings for Hyebin in a box marked _envy_ and leaves it at that.

On the other side of the room, staff with cameras and makeup brushes and fine-toothed combs flutter around the members of Blackpink. Jisoo looks like she _belongs_ here. Her hands at her sides, still, no need to tug at her sleeves or the waist of her skirt or her oversized earrings. She laughs like the sound will melt away the nerves, evaporate them like it's easy. Maybe it is.

Their eyes meet; Yeonwoo struggles against the red that's certain to splotch across her cheeks when Jisoo winks, grinning brilliantly.

She is, for lack of a more potent word, beautiful. Yeonwoo's heart threatens to leap out of her throat.

Maybe Jisoo has that effect on people. Maybe admiration is a scale, tipping to the side of _please, please kiss me first_. Maybe Jisoo, as it seems to be all too easy for her, has been taking her time storming into Yeonwoo's mind and scribbling out every _should_ and _shouldn't_ , leaving behind, in big, inescapable letters: _Love me. Why not?_

Yeonwoo turns away.

Near the corner, Nancy and Joowon stand with their heads together, shooting dirty looks Blackpink's way. Nancy pulls a face, and Joowon presses her palm to her mouth in laughter. Yeonwoo isn't sure what it is, doesn't want to know the joke, the context. All she knows is whatever disdain plays across Nancy's lips infuriates her, sends a shock of rage prickling at her heels. She strolls over.

Joowon spots Yeonwoo and tries to school her expression into something _manageable_ , which half-frightens Yeonwoo, if only for the thought that she isn't as good at burying her emotions as she thinks she is. She attempts a smile as she leans close to Nancy's ear.

"Stop," Yeonwoo hisses as sweetly as she can, lightly slapping Nancy's ass to soften the blow, however contradictory that might seem.

The cameras, perhaps, will understand.

 

 

 

Soft lips don't linger long enough for Yeonwoo to steal a taste, test her theory of _strawberry strawberry chocolate_ , but that's all okay. Jisoo's eyes sparkle brighter when she pulls away.

"How did you know?" is the only thing she can think to ask.

Jisoo shrugs and scrapes her spoon against the bottom of her plastic bowl. Her tongue darts out at a spot of whipped cream. Unladylike, but excusable. Enticing, in this case. "Your face isn't very open. But your eyes say so much."

"Damn," Yeonwoo crosses and uncrosses her ankles, wishing she had brought a coat to fold over her legs. _Why?_ a tiny voice sounds out from the back of her mind, but she squashes it down. Jisoo's bowl is as clean as she's going to get it, but Yeonwoo swallows down her smart remarks. Jisoo's brow furrows slightly, and her fingers are sticky with chocolate.

 _You'll get wrinkles_ , Yeonwoo would have nagged, if Jisoo was one of her members. But everything in Jisoo screams _youth, youth, youth_ , and Yeonwoo settles for gently scraping Jisoo's hair from her face.

"I was wondering," Jisoo ventures, setting her spoon down and grabbing a napkin from the dispenser between them. Yeonwoo quirks an eyebrow. "That day at the convention, why did you approach me? I mean, you didn't have to. You don't have to. But you still went up to me. Why is that?"

Yeonwoo takes a deep breath and lets her foot brush against Jisoo's calf. "Jisoo, you're different," she starts. "And I mean that in the least cliché way possible. You stand out because you don't _try_ to. You're just bright. You were acting cute," Yeonwoo inhales again, trading in a few more useless seconds. "You're always cute. You're dumb."

Jisoo smiles, and it's a bittersweet cry from her delicious too-much laugh, but it feels just as genuine. Yeonwoo swallows.

"You're not my type," she states.

"I can tell," Jisoo picks at her napkin, rolling the pieces into little balls before she drops them to the sidewalk. "What is your type?"

"I don't know," Yeonwoo answers truthfully. "Not cute. Not dumb."

"Understood," Jisoo pauses, then lets their feet tangle completely. She grins, a softer version of the devil glittering in her eyes. Yeonwoo's pulse jumps, but she doesn't smile back. Jisoo will know, somehow. "Can I kiss you anyway?"

Yeonwoo would like that. Jisoo melts like the chocolate lingering on her tongue when Yeonwoo's fingertips skate over her collarbones. Yeonwoo sighs right back.

 

 

 

Daisy slips into her roles the way she slips into her expensive shoes, perfectly, maybe a little pinch. All in the name of beauty. Yeonwoo has learned how to do this, maybe even better. But she remembers the day she found herself older than she wanted to be, talking too slow in a city moving too fast. It was less like stepping into a pair of shoes, more like tipping headfirst into a well. The shock, the gasp, the always struggling to stay in control.

But smiling at Jisoo isn't a chore. Maybe it isn't a coincidence the way Jisoo's lips move against her neck. Thinking _this is good this is good this is amazing_ doesn't feel like a role. Yeonwoo breaths slowly and her lungs fill with a victorious sense of _soon_ ; she can imagine the sleek bottle of perfume on Jisoo's vanity.

"You don't owe me anything," Jisoo reminds, and Yeonwoo leans forward.

It's a challenge if she's ever heard one.

 

 

 

The song is good. It's loud and it's confident and the world has waited more than long enough for it. Jisoo, in all her gold sparkles and winning smiles and shimmering eye shadow, could be the sun for all Yeonwoo cares. She is exquisite and blinding in the way that leaves Yeonwoo wanting. Her voice is as heady and rich as ever; this, Yeonwoo can tell, even as the dorm's speakers warp it into something almost barely _off_.

 _You looked immortal_ , she'll say when Jisoo is back where she belongs, feet in Yeonwoo's lap as she searches the internet for a place to eat, mask up and sunglasses on as she grins at Yeonwoo in a way that still can't be hidden, hand warm and comforting around hers.

She turns the TV on, ready to watch Jisoo (inevitably) stand on another stage, glorious, the confetti leaving pretty flecks of silver in her hair. Yeonwoo likes the red outfit, it dips _just low enough_ \--

Taeha stretches her leg and nudges Yeonwoo's thigh. "Unnie, you're not watching them _again_? This has to be the millionth time this week."

Yeonwoo shrugs daintily. "It's a nice song," she says, and it's not even a lie.

"But surely the video is better," Taeha points out. Yeonwoo wishes she would go back to her phone. "Unless you want to see if they win again?"

Nancy snorts from the floor, where she is facing away from them. Yeonwoo is grateful she can't see her face and doesn't even feel guilty about it. "That's a waste of time and you know it. Of course they're going to win. Might as well spend your time on some music that's _actually_ good."

Yeonwoo stiffens, but smooths just in time. Taeha laughs. "Don't be mean, Nancy," she scolds, but there's no bite. Nancy knows no one will say a word. Not one that matters.

"It's true. We all know Blackpink had the world handed to them on a silver platter. Do they ever have to work for anything?"

Jisoo would have brushed it off, but Yeonwoo has trouble moving heavy things if she's already brought them to her shoulders.

Taeha tilts her head. "They might have started out with a bit of an advantage."

"Right?" Joowon whines, butting in as she is wont to do. "They've done nothing to earn their success."

Nancy lifts her hand and gestures at the TV. "Fucking lucky bitches. That's the only thing they have. _Luck_."

"Shut up!" Yeonwoo snaps. Joowon's eyes widen, and Nancy jolts up. Yeonwoo feels something crack someplace inside of her. "Just shut up! There's no such thing as _luck_! You can't watch them go up onstage with a damn near _flawless_ performance that they've worked fucking _hard_ on and chalk it up to luck! They've trained and prepared just as long as we have, and the deserve every success that comes their way. You can be jealous all you want, but nothing will change the fact that they've earned this. Their success isn't luck, it's passion. And you better get over yourselves, because that keeps you going a lot better than spite does in this world."

On the screen, Jisoo laughs as the sparkling flurries tumble about her, eyes brightening in the way Yeonwoo won't admit she loves, but Yeonwoo doesn't see. She's busy rushing out of the dorm.

 

 

 

"My members don't like you," Yeonwoo says in lieu of a proper greeting. Jisoo raises her eyebrows with an odd little smirk, grip still loosening on the doorknob. She looks tired, if Yeonwoo cares to dig a little deeper, but not so much that it shows as more than a slurred edge to her words. Yeonwoo bites her lip and doesn't come in until Jisoo gestures for her to enter.

Jisoo doesn't bother covering her yawn as she watches Yeonwoo spend too long lining her shoes up, arranging them like another skyscraper stacked up against the flat line of the horizon. "I figured," she finally replies, and there's a red gleam to her eyes which Yeonwoo isn't sure _isn't_ from the yawn, "but what about it?"

Yeonwoo straightens and brushes imaginary creases from her skirt. She is taller than Jisoo to the degree where it only matters halfway, and the difference feels even more trivial when her heeled boots sit pretty on the rack beside Jisoo's thin-soled sneakers. "It's really nothing."

Jisoo's brow furrows.

It's a tangled mess of Jisoo-knows-she-knows- _Jisoo_ -knows, but it all boils down to Yeonwoo lying and neither of them doing a thing about it.

"I'll make coffee," Jisoo offers. Yeonwoo shakes her head.

"Don't do that," she fiddles with the strap of her watch, taps her fingernails against its face, as if that will speed time up. Worth a try. "Jisoo, I--"

"It's not _nothing_ \--"

They break off and laugh, because there's nothing else to do. Jisoo stumbles forward and presses her face against Yeonwoo's shoulder, gripping her forearms. "Sorry," she whispers, and they've never been _awkward_ before, but this sure comes close. Jisoo slowly steps away and studies Yeonwoo's face, letting her hands slip down to gently hold Yeonwoo's. Concern makes itself apparent in the rigid slope of her lips.

"You know," Jisoo drawls, straining to put the _playful_ back in her tone, exactly where it belongs. It comes off as something close to dry amusement, though Yeonwoo wouldn't go as far as to say she _failed_. "The more upset you get, the calmer you look. You could be a doll right now."

"I'm sure there's a tipping point," Yeonwoo responds.

Jisoo laughs. "Nope. I don't believe you. I bet you're just a big Barbie at funerals."

Yeonwoo smiles softly. "Maybe."

They end up on the couch, bodies and minds woven together and moving apart, Jisoo a warm, solid weight at Yeonwoo's side. She is still all bright yellow and bubbly pink and the rich in-betweens that Yeonwoo can taste, and maybe her colors will rub off if Yeonwoo sits close enough. The wind scrapes at the windows, a frantic pattern against the constant of Jisoo's breathing against her skin: _in, out, in, out_.

Yeonwoo doesn't think twice, a dangerous habit. "Doesn't it make you mad?"

Jisoo glances up from her phone, and her surprise is a gentle one. "What should I be mad at?"

"My members," Yeonwoo stares hard at a spot on the wall. Jisoo's gaze is careful and tempting. Yeonwoo doesn't want to fall too hard into the sweet spots of her smile. "For hating you, I guess. The world, because it hates you, too. Hates us. And it always will."

"That's just the nature of worlds," Jisoo shrugs. "Nothing we can help."

"But what if they all talk?" Yeonwoo reaches for Jisoo's hand. "Could you take it?"

Jisoo pauses and Yeonwoo is certain she's not hesitating, just breathing. "I could take it. I'd hate for them to talk for nothing, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Yeonwoo, imagine they're all talking. Imagine they all know. Whoever _they_ has to be, whatever you need _us_ to mean. It's you and me on one side and the world on the other. Could _you_ take it?"

Their eyes finally meet. Yeonwoo exhales as Jisoo's lips ghost over her knuckles. Jisoo's eyes sparkle deep within their chocolate-rich swirls. Yeonwoo melts, wonders if this is what _love enough_ feels like. The world loses meaning for each moment Jisoo's gaze, hungry yet unassuming, surrounds her like a haze of sunshine.

She makes her decision, resting in the petal-pink of Jisoo's lips.

"Let them talk."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are loved and cherished forever


End file.
